


Of Wedding Bells and Runaway Spies

by autumnlouise



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BAMF Molly Hooper, Dark Molly Hooper, F/M, Fluff, Pre-Relationship, Sherlock Holmes Has a Heart, Slow Dancing, Spies & Secret Agents, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-06
Updated: 2020-10-06
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:40:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26866057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/autumnlouise/pseuds/autumnlouise
Summary: Here, in this moment, everything felt so normal. It was so easy to forget that she was the right-hand woman to the world’s only consulting criminal, that being here was putting everyone in danger, that Sherlock was supposed to be dead– but she adored the escape.Or: Molly, a spy, emerges from the shadows to attend the wedding of her childhood best friend Meena, with a disguised Sherlock as her plus-one.
Relationships: Irene Adler & Sherlock Holmes, Molly Hooper & Jim Moriarty, Molly Hooper & Meena (Sherlock), Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper
Kudos: 21





	Of Wedding Bells and Runaway Spies

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, all! Please read this note before continuing for some important plot details! 
> 
> I was going through some old documents and found this drabble in my drafts folder from 2017, so I decided I'd post it. This one-shot is part of an AU I had been planning at the time called "A Study in Sentiment", in which Moriarty recruited Molly (whose backstory is sadder and perhaps darker than in canon) as an agent of his some years before the start of the show. In this AU, after "The Reichenbach Fall", both Moriarty and Sherlock faked their own deaths, with Sherlock going to stay with Molly, who he believes to be innocent and on his side. Unbeknownst to him, this is all part of Moriarty's plan; Molly is to play the part of the shy, sweet pathologist, attempting to help Sherlock bring down the remnants of Moriarty's network. However, Moriarty plans to turn Molly into Sherlock's weakness, using the fondness he develops for her to destroy him once and for all.
> 
> In this drabble, Molly is invited to the wedding of her best friend, Meena. Over the time Sherlock has been living with her, she finds herself slowly letting her walls down around him and beginning to care for him. As such, she invites him (in disguise, of course) to be her plus-one to the wedding. During their night free from deception and deceit, fluff and fun ensues!
> 
> Please note that this has not been beta'd and I have not touched it since November of 2017. Any errors or mistakes are my own! I hope you enjoy, and let me know if you'd like to see any more scenes from this AU that I may uncover.

The day of the wedding finally arrived, and with it came a cold front and far too much rain. Thankfully, it did not muck up any of Meena’s plans- the wedding was inside a church and the reception at hotel ballroom- but it did, however, ruin Molly’s outfit for that night. Now she would have to do something more intricate to her hair to avoid having it puff up from humidity, and the only jackets she had packed all clashed with her pale pink bridesmaid’s gown. 

She had spent the entire morning getting ready with Meena and the other members of the wedding party; they all did each other’s hair and makeup, with Meena, the hair stylist expert, managing to tame Molly’s frizz into a tight, fishtail braid from her hairline to the middle of her back. During the prep hours, the girls chatted with the radio playing in the background, occasionally stopping to scream-sing along to a song they’d all loved ten years ago or to laugh for no reason at all. It felt so good to see Meena again. To just have someone to  _ hang out _ with; someone she could unequivocally be herself around. She’d missed all of this since joining Moriarty’s network, and the freedom in laughing without a care was something she had taken for granted.

However, there was a downside to all of this- the dreaded  _ introvert burnout. _ The wedding was set to start in just a few hours time, and all of the girls were about to burst with excitement. Except for Molly. Yes, she could just about die with happiness for her friend, but they had also been small-talking nonstop for the past five hours. Her limited social capacity was already exhausted, and they still had the ceremony this evening and the reception tonight.

She needed alone time. Badly.

“So you and Dan are going to the Caribbean for your honeymoon?” One of the other bridesmaids, Ruby, prompted as she doused the bride’s hair with spray. 

“Oh, yes.” Meena said, grinning coyly. “I’ve never been before, but Dan’s family goes every summer, so he knows all the best spots. And to top it off, he looks  _ ravishing _ in a bathing suit.” 

Cue the laughter. Molly forced herself to giggle along with them, but she felt herself starting to get irritated underneath the mask. If she didn’t get some peace and quiet, she would be absolutely horrible to be around for the rest of the day. She would hate to ruin her best friend’s wedding.

“I think I’m going to go get some food.” Molly finally said as the laughter cleared, rising to her feet from the plush pink settée. “I’ll be back in a few minutes, if that’s all right.”

No one protested. But Molly could tell feel Meena’s worried gaze burning into her back as she inched past the girls and slipped out the door. She had known Molly since primary school, and she knew her better than anyone. She always knew when something was wrong. 

Thankfully, because it was her wedding day, she could not follow Molly outside into the hotel lobby. At midday, the hall was nearly empty save for a few loitering bellboys and staff members. Molly heaved a huge sigh of relief and leaned against the wall- finally, some silence. Lush, beautiful silence. This was why she had chosen to be a pathologist instead of a physician. It was so much easier to enjoy her job when she was tucked away inside a quiet morgue instead of mingling with patients all day. 

Hunger and overstimulation, she decided, did not make a good combination. She desperately needed some kind of food, but she was too socially exhausted to make herself go and get it. However… she happened to know someone who would do it for her, if she asked correctly.

Pulling out her phone, she sent a quick text to her plus-one, a certain Sherlock Holmes.  _ SOS. Pls bring food. In hotel lobby.  _

His response was immediate.  _ Will not delay. -SH _

Just for jokes, she decided to see how long it would take him to arrive. So she set a timer on her phone, leaned back against the wall, and waited.

Less than five minutes later, she spotted Sherlock strolling into the lobby, carrying a McDonald’s bag and wearing a black tuxedo instead of his usual buttoned-up trench coat. She was surprised he had put this much effort into a wedding outfit; he professed utter hatred for any kind of social function. Also to her surprise, he was also walking- almost jogging, rather- at a brisk, almost tense pace. He looked up, eyes visibly fogged over with  _ some _ kind of emotion- but as soon as he saw her, something that looked like relief crossed his face. He ran towards her.

“ _ Thank you.” _ She snatched the bag from his hands began popping chips into her mouth. She would save the cheeseburger for after he was gone. “Thank you, I really needed that.” The hours of girl-talk had put her at ease, and she found that it was a little bit easier to talk to Sherlock naturally.

Sherlock’s eyebrows knit together, and he looked her up and down, and up and down again. For once, he actually seemed to look… confused. She stopped eating her french fries and frowned, slightly self conscious. “Have I got ketchup on me?”she demanded. 

The consulting detective shook his head, still staring unabashedly at her. “You bewilder me.” he finally said, blinking a few times. He looked quite lost. Molly actually found it quite amusing. The great Sherlock Holmes, stumped by the psychology of the fairer sex.

“Chip for your thoughts?” she offered, holding a fry out to him. 

“I don’t eat when I’m on a–” he started, but then realized that he was, in fact,  _ not  _ on an official case. He took the fry and popped it into his mouth. “Garbage.” he said upon swallowing.

But he took the second chip when she held it out. “Another thought?”

He sucked on this one almost like a cigarette. He must have been craving a smoke; Molly had forbade him from bringing cigarettes to the wedding. No one in her family would be caught smoking after... her father, and if he wanted to play a convincing role, he would have to do the same. “Why,” he wondered aloud, voice heavy with bewilderment and frustration, “Do women act as though they’re on the brink of death when they’re just  _ hungry _ ?”

Molly nearly choked on her chip. That emotion in his eyes, the spring in his step as he’d dashed towards her? He’d been  _ worried. _ About her. Her stomach flipped. She probably could have done without the  _ SOS. _ “I’m sorry if I worried you.”

“You didn’t.”

Both of them silently munched on McDonald’s chips, Molly being careful to avoid spilling condiments on her baby-pink gown. 

“Why were you sending distress signals when you should be dousing the bride in makeup?” he finally asked, looking at her with that same cloudy expression as before. 

“I needed some alone time.” she said quietly, shrugging. He would probably understand; he, too, was an introvert and a homebody who thrived in the quiet. He yelled at her at least three times a week to stop ‘stomping about the house like a wildebeest’ so that he could focus better.

“And you find that you feel as though you are alone when I am around.” 

She nearly smacked herself on the face- of  _ course _ he wouldn’t understand. How easily she forgot that Sherlock was not, at least emotionally,  _ normal.  _ “No!” she exclaimed, quick to backpedal. Because she instantly recognized the hidden feeling laced through Sherlock’s voice like venom. She had lived with it, suffered because of it, for so many years. It made her heart clench. She did not want  _ anyone _ to feel the way she had- invisible. “No. I- I didn’t mean it like that. I… I just…”

Sherlock patiently waited for her to finish stuttering, blue eyes cool. “I understand.” he said curtly.

“No, you don’t.” Molly said, though it was more a plea than anything. 

“Sentiment?”

She looked down at the McDonald’s bag, hands shaking from the adrenaline rush of embarrassment. “No.” she blurted, even though both of them knew it was a lie. Sherlock cocked a brow.

“You said that rather quickly. That indicates that you are being dishonest.”

She swallowed and forced herself to seem confident, cool. “I enjoy your company.” she admitted. And, with a scowl, she added. “Your deductions, not as much.”

The expression on his face instantly vanished, and he was back to the cool, calm Sherlock he always was. “Well, I happen to enjoy these chips.” Sherlock said, sitting down on the settée beside Molly’s wallflower spot. “So it appears as though we have much to gain from each other.” 

Molly rolled her eyes as she sat down next to him. “You’re not getting any of the hamburger.” 

Sherlock took a handful of fries from the little basket. “Is the conversation in the female torture chamber as exhausting as the expression on your face suggests?”

Molly groaned, and with an exasperated sigh she said, “Oh, you cannot even  _ imagine _ …”

* * *

The rest of the afternoon breezed by, and before Molly knew it, they were heading to the church. Guests had already started to file in when they arrived, and Molly spent quite a few minutes reuniting with friends from secondary school and family members of Meena’s that she hadn’t seen in years. It was difficult to keep a straight face and to small talk for so long, as so many of them hadn’t seen her since her father’s funeral. Most of their questions to her were about how she was doing, if she was okay… she was sick of that. She wished Meena would swoop in to save her and tell all of them to screw off.

And then it was time for the ceremony. Molly and the other bridesmaids filed down the aisle in their matching pastel dresses, paving the way towards the altar for Meena. Looking out at the crowd, she caught Sherlock’s eye– he was sitting alone near the back, but he was there, and for some reason that made her smile. He gave her a little wave and one of those cheesy winks he usually saved for John, and she had to fight to keep from laughing on the altar.

Here, in this moment, everything felt so normal. It was so easy to forget that she was the right-hand woman to the world’s only consulting criminal, that being here was putting everyone in danger, that Sherlock was supposed to be dead– but she adored the escape. Before she knew it, her best friend was floating down the aisle looking like a princess, walking towards the man of her dreams, and Molly was crying. Everything besides her memories with Meena left her mind. They had come from primary school best friends to this. How had time passed so fast? How had everything changed so quickly? She promised herself that she would make more time for Meena in the future, even if she had to force Moriarty to let her do so. 

After the ceremony ended, the first thing she did was throw her arms around Meena. Both of them were sobbing messes for a few minutes, and could have stayed in the church crying all night- but the guests pushed them outside and somehow Molly ended up separated from the rest of the bridal party. But she wasn’t alone for long. Outside of the church, Sherlock was waiting for her underneath a large black umbrella. It was barely drizzling outside, but Molly was grateful for the cover as it protected her hair. She ducked under the umbrella to join him.

“Are you alright?” he murmured, his gentle baritone barely louder than the quiet rain against the umbrella. Surprised, Molly looked up into his eyes, which were a striking ice blue against the gray England sky. 

“Yes,” she replied, wrapping her arms around herself to shield from the cold. Her jackets were back at the hotel, and all she had in terms of warmth was a thin pink shawl. “Why? Has something happened?”

He looked away from her, focusing instead on the guests piling into cabs and cars en route to the reception. “I just thought it wise to check on your emotional stability.” he said. “Seeing as you were crying after the ceremony.”

Part of her wanted to laugh; the other half was touched. Somehow, in the span of a few weeks, they had gone from being cold and callous to actually… interacting.  _ Emotionally  _ interacting. Molly found it easier and easier to bring down her wall with each passing day. She didn’t feel like she had to put on her shy, meek mask around him- it wasn’t acting anymore.

And she found that she did not mind. Because, at the end of the day, it made it easier to get close to Sherlock and get the job done.

She was about to open her mouth and explain to him the concept of happy tears when he hailed a cab. He reached down and grabbed her by the wrist, dragging her along the wet pavement towards the road. “Come,” he said, any traces of concern forgotten. His voice was almost colder than the damp winter air; Molly shivered. “We have a reception to get to, yes?”

She frowned as they clamored into the car. Something had made Sherlock freeze up on her, and for the first time… she didn’t like it. 

As they maneuvered through the crowded, small-town roads, Sherlock gazed out the window. The raindrops slid down the glass, blurring the shops and people milling about into nothing more than colorless blobs. The gray light reflected on Sherlock’s face in just the right combination of shadow and bright; Molly wished she could photograph this moment.

Instead, she reached out and gently touched the arm of his coat. “Sherlock,” she whispered. He didn’t turn to look at her, but she could tell from the way he tensed at her touch that he was listening. “That… was very sweet of you. To ask after me. Thank you.” The gratitude in her voice was genuine.

His only response was reaching down and giving her hand a quick squeeze. 

A few minutes later, the cabbie pulled up in front of the building where the reception was to be held. Sherlock paid the man and generously tipped him; he tipped his cap to Sherlock in response.

“Enjoy the party,” he said as they moved to get out of the car. “You two’ll be walkin’ into your own weddin’ before you know it.” 

Molly felt her face heat up. Sherlock, surprisingly, said nothing as he climbed out of the cab and shut the door behind them.

Molly looked questioningly after him as he strolled towards the entrance. He turned. “What?”

She narrowed her eyes. “You’re… acting strange.” she accused, trying to look for signs of emotion in his face, his eyes; but she was not even half the detective Sherlock was, even after years of working with Moriarty, and she could not deduce anything from his stony expression. 

“Let’s just get this over with.” he murmured, voice low. In one motion, he reached towards her and looped his arm through hers, bringing Molly to his side. “I would appreciate it if you did not abandon me in the crowd, seeing as I am your guest and am reluctant to partake in social events to begin with.” 

And without another word, the two of them turned and made their way into the full-to-bursting reception hall. 

White noise assaulted Molly’s ears as soon as they crossed over the threshold. Music was playing in the background, the bass thumping through the whole building. One sector of the ballroom was set aside as a dance floor, lying empty in wait for the bride’s first dance. Dozens of round tables were set with places and name cards, one for each and every guest. A few people were beginning to sit and eat, but most of the crowd was up and mingling, saying hello to old friends and family members and clamoring to congratulate the bride. Meena was deep in conversation with an aunt of hers, Dan on her arm, but her friend’s Molly-sense seemed to tingle as soon as she walked into the room. Meena had always seemed to  _ know _ when Molly arrived- in secondary school, she used to open the door before Molly even rang the doorbell or sometimes just leave it unlocked for her. It was uncanny, but it had always been that way. 

Meena looked over and grinned at her friend from across the room, and as soon as was possible, she politely excused herself from the conversation and sprinted over to Molly.

“Molls!” she cried, throwing her arms around her bridesmaid. “I couldn’t find you after the ceremony, I was so worried! Did you get here okay?”

The connection between her and Sherlock was severed by Meena’s bear hug. Molly held her friend close and soaked in the sisterly bond they had shared over the years; despite months without seeing each other, it was still intact. Molly hoped it always would be. 

“Yeah, I got pushed back by the crowd. But I took a cab, so it was okay.” she said with a smile. “How does it feel to be married?”

Meena couldn’t hold back her grin. “It is the most amazing feeling in the world,” she gushed, grabbing both of Molly’s hands in hers. “Oh, Molls, it feels like a fairytale. Today has been perfect, and I get to live happily-ever-after with my Mr. Right. I can’t wait for to have your own…” she suddenly trailed off, stopped by Dan’s warning hand on her shoulder. They exchanged a worried glance that did not go unnoticed to Molly. Meena thought that Molly was oblivious, but she had known for years; her love life was painfully scarce, had been ever since her father’s death, and Meena had been fretting privately about whether or not Molly would end up alone. It was touching, really, and Molly had to admit that sometimes she did ache with loneliness- but being by herself was better. How could she ever settle down and have a family with a job under Moriarty? She would be forced to keep her work a secret, and he would ridicule her to no end about wanting a ‘domestic life’. 

It just didn’t seem to equate into her future. She had come to terms with that long ago, and believed it for the best. There was only room for one underneath her heart’s stone wall.

Meena cleared her throat. “Anyways.” she said, her worried frown abruptly morphing back into her cheery smile. “Who is this? Aren’t you going to introduce me to your plus-one?”

Molly’s chest tightened. “Yes, of course.” her voice slipped. She had planned what she was going to say down to the exact  _ punctuation _ earlier that day, but in the moment, she froze up. This was why she had avoided contact with Meena for months at a time after joining Moriarty. It was so much easier to be silent than to lie to her best friend’s face.

Because Meena could read her like a book. She always knew. 

“Meena,” Molly said, drawing Sherlock forward. She tried her best not to cut off his circulation from clutching at his arm, “This is William Scott, my–”

But before she could finish introducing him, Sherlock slipped into the conversation and cut her off as easily as if he had planned it. Perhaps he had. “Boyfriend.” he said, actually giving her friend one of his  _ genuine _ smiles- the kind that dazzled. He held out a hand to Dan, then Meena, for a handshake. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Molly’s heart pounded.  _ Boyfriend? _ They had agreed on Sherlock playing her  _ cousin. _ What the hell was this? She shot him a side-eyed glare, which was promptly ignored. He was brushing it off like this was nothing, but it absolutely was  _ not  _ nothing, because Sherlock had just lied to Meena and botched the plan, and now and she had a lot of explaining to do.

She turned to face her friend and gulped.“I thought you were bringing your _cousin?_ ” Meena demanded, a hint of accusation in her voice. Her eyebrow went up; _the_ eyebrow, the one that meant something along the lines of, _why didn’t you tell me?_ Molly could tell she was hurt.

She felt her cheeks go even redder. “Erm… surprise?”

“Oh!” Sherlock exclaimed, pretending to be shocked. “I am so sorry, love- I didn’t realize…” it took Molly a moment to realize that the voice belonged to Sherlock Holmes- and that he was talking to her. He had quickly slipped into a role, discarding his usual bitter, withdrawn manner for something more sociable. It shocked her, rendered her speechless. He turned to Meena and Dan, looking visibly upset. 

“I am so sorry.” he apologized profusely to Meena. “I didn’t realize she hadn’t told you. I asked if she would keep things quiet so I could surprise my mum at Christmas- but I had no idea she hadn’t even told  _ you.  _ This is my doing; I am so sorry!” 

He was babbling.  _ Sherlock Holmes was babbling. _ Molly thought she might faint from pure shock.

The hurt in her friend’s face immediately vanished, turning to suspicion as she seemed to analyze his character. Then happiness, as she appraised Sherlock as  _ worthy _ of Molly and realized that her best friend had  _ not _ betrayed her. “Oh, don’t you worry about a thing, William.” she told him, embracing him like an old friend. It was her wedding day, but she couldn’t seem to contain her excitement about the prospect of love in Molly’s life. “Do you go by Will? Liam? Let’s introduce you to everyone- isn’t he lovely, Dan?”

And just like that, everything was back to normal. Molly barely had time to grab onto Sherlock’s hand before Meena whisked him away into the crowd. Molly was dumbfounded. That had not at all gone according to plan, yet her world had not shattered and Meena had not seen through the lie. What had just happened? And how had it worked so surprisingly  _ well? _

As they moved through the crowd, the consulting detective slid his arm around her waist, pulling her closer to him. Molly squeaked as her side bumped against his hip; Sherlock smirked. “Let’s keep you close to me.” he breathed into her ear, too low for the others to hear. The tickle of his breath on her skin made Molly shiver.

Her hands balled into fists, nails leaving crescent-moon imprints on the skin of her palms. This was her grounding technique, one she’d used ever since her father’s death. The prick of her nails against her soft palm cleared her head and brought her back to reality. “You,” she hissed, looking up at Sherlock with a hopefully frustrated expression, “Are a very good actor. My boyfriend?”

In between smiling and waving to the people that Meena pointed out to him, Sherlock had time to whisper, “You are too skittish around me for me to be your cousin. Blushing and stammering around a lover is more natural.” And then he slipped his hand into hers, making Molly’s face warm and only proving his point.

After parading around the reception and introducing “William” to all of the bride’s family and Molly and Meena’s mutual friends, they headed to their table for dinner. It had been wonderful to see everyone again, especially Meena’s parents, who had practically been her own mother and father growing up. Meena’s mother had hugged her close, and the embrace took Molly back to her motherless primary-school days; Meena’s mother was safe, and warm, and home. She had missed this.

“It warms my heart to see you so happy.” she had whispered, holding Molly against her in a tight embrace. “If you ever need anything, we’re here for you, darling.”

At the dinner table, Molly was seated directly to Meena’s right, with Dan on her other side. They had insisted another chair be pulled up so “William” could sit beside Molly and tell them all about himself. Sherlock played the part of a sociable boyfriend very convincingly, probably from observation of John and other such people over the years. Molly, meanwhile, slipped back into her reserved persona; Mousy Molly was the girl everyone here knew her as, and she had to play her part just as well as Sherlock was playing his. She was quiet for most of the dinner, only really interacting with Sherlock or Meena, the two people at the table she knew best.

While most of the conversation was centered around Dan and Meena, a few people occasionally chipped in with questions about “William” and Molly’s relationship. The food came- an intricate Italian pasta dish, as Dan’s family had roots in Italy- and Sherlock surprised Molly even further by actually picking at his food while answering questions with her. This man was so far from the one she knew- it was a convincing act, but Molly knew from experience that it had to be exhausting. 

After several glasses of wine, everyone at the table was laughing far too loudly and far too often. “I suppose we’ll all be going to your wedding next, Molly?” Dan shouted across the table.

Molly’s eyes widened. “Well, I- I don’t know.” She stammered, taken aback. On the other side of the table, another one of the groomsmen- this one Meena’s cousin- boomed out a laugh.

“Molly Hooper? Married? I’d be surprised.” he chuckled at the thought. “Never thought I’d see anyone look at her the way that fella over there does. She’s quite meek, that one. Invisible.”

Molly wasn’t pretending when the tears pricked at her eyes.

“Always acting like a cat’s got her tongue,” he continued, oblivious to how he was insulting her. “Don’t know how she even managed to introduce herself to William.”

Meena’s mouth dropped open in shock. Clearly the remark had been the product of too much alcohol, but it was still brutally honest and hit below the belt. Molly felt like she was in secondary school all over again- the quiet one at the table full of people laughing, the one person excluded from the joke, the one who was always forgotten.

_ Invisible. _

Her best friend was about to defend her, as she had always done. But another voice beat hers to the punch.

Beside her, Sherlock was glaring daggers at Meena’s cousin. “Molly Hooper,” he said icily, “Is a wonderful woman who I count myself lucky to have. I don’t deserve her as a lover, and by your behavior, you clearly don’t deserve her as a friend. Speaking your mind does not behoove you, sir; it only shows the rest of us how little intelligence you truly possess.” 

And before the dumbstruck man could respond, Sherlock rose from the table. “Come, love,” he said, reaching for Molly’s hand. “I recall you mentioning that you wanted to dance?”

He was offering her an escape, Molly realized. A way out- one that she had always yearned for as a girl. A knight in shining armor, sweeping her away from her villains on a white horse. His hand stretched out to her was like a beacon of light against her dark past.

She did not look at anyone but Sherlock as she took it.

Molly’s vision blurred as they walked; instead of taking her to the dance floor, though, Sherlock veered away and led her into a quiet, empty side hallway. The door swung shut behind them, the heavy wood muffling the laughter and pulsing bass of the music. 

“Are you alright?” Sherlock demanded as soon as they were alone. He kept Molly’s hand tightly enclosed in his. 

Molly squeezed her eyes shut in shame as she felt hot, silent tears roll down her cheeks. She had not cried real, vulnerable tears in front of anyone since her father’s funeral. She had thought she was past this, away from the fragile, breakable girl she had been. But it seemed that not even the wall around her heart, or Moriarty’s training, could heal the wounds of her past.

“God,” she choked out, laughing through her tears, “I feel so stupid.”

Sherlock looked puzzled- both at her sudden show of emotion and her words. However, he did not criticize her crying as he usually did. “You have quite a high level of intelligence.” he reassured her. 

Molly laughed again, but it was half a chuckle, half a sob. “No, Sherlock. I just- I shouldn’t have let his comment bother me.”

Sherlock’s thumb was gentle as he wiped away her tears. “Molly.” he said quietly, looking into her eyes, “You are human. You are allowed to feel. That man insulted you- you have a right to be upset.”

She shook her head. “I thought I was different.” she whispered, “I thought I had changed. But he made me feel like I was seventeen again. Like I was a coward.”

And something burned in Sherlock’s eyes- she couldn’t tell if it was anger or sadness or confusion. But his expression was fierce as he looked down at her and said, “I have learned from John that old wounds do not heal easily. The verbal beatings you allowed yourself to take as a girl were quite brutal, from what I can deduce. You have been through hell, and few people would have taken it silently as you did. You are extraordinarily brave. And you are allowed to break, Molly Hooper.”

She wanted to throw her arms around him. He may have claimed to be clueless about emotions and sentiment, but he had just spoken the words she had been dying to hear for years. No one else had read her so clearly, had understood that she was dying inside when she said she was fine. She hated it when he deduced her, but this time– just this once– she thought it was okay. She would hold those words close for a long time. 

She didn’t know how to tell him that.

“But you’re not?” she finally said, looking at him and seeing a little bit of herself in his eyes. He had the hollow look of someone who had spent too long forcing himself to feel nothing.

“I am different.” Sherlock said quietly, almost sounding a little sad as he did so. “As I have been reminded many times, I do not have a heart.”

_ You’re wrong. _ She thought, eyes welling with tears again, though for a different reason. He was wrong because he’d saved her back there, at the table, and he’d defended her. He’d waited for her with an umbrella, he’d come running when he thought she was in danger. Even Sherlock Holmes had a heart- perhaps it was just hidden behind walls of stone and mortar, like her own. Why couldn’t he see himself the way she did, the way John and Mrs. Hudson had? He may not have been perfect, but no one was.

And, of all people, why had he chosen to bear that heart to  _ her?  _

Molly looked down at the floor. “Why did you defend me?” she whispered, unable to meet his eyes. Because she felt vulnerable having revealed herself like that, and she knew he must be feeling the same. 

“You are my friend,” he murmured, almost more to himself than to her. “And I couldn’t let him treat you like that.”

_ Friend. _ She was Sherlock Holmes’s friend. And for the first time, she was glad to hear him say it.

At what point had she stopped needing to pretend?

“Now,” he squeezed her hand soothingly. “May I ask you for a dance?”

Taking a shaking breath, she forced her emotions under control. She let Sherlock wipe away the last of her tears. “Yes. You may.”

They re-entered the ballroom still holding hands. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Meena and her cousin still at the table; he was cringing as she gave him a verbal lashing for what he’d said. Part of her felt guilty, as though she’d somehow ruined Meena’s wedding. But the words that came out of someone else’s mouth, she reminded herself, were not her fault. Sherlock seemed to realize what she was looking at and led her straight to the dance floor, where they blended into the crowd.

The song was slow, with the faintest hint of guitar and drums in the background. Molly wasn’t very fond of pop music, so neither she nor Sherlock knew it very well; it was probably one of those newer artists like Ed Sheeran or one of the boy-band members gone rogue. It was hard to know much about pop culture when you spent all day in a morgue, she thought ruefully. But even so, he still put his arms around her waist and they swayed to the rhythm of the beat. 

Somehow, even when they were barely moving, she managed to step on his feet. “Sorry! Sorry, I’m so sorry.”

He chuckled. “You weren’t lying about your dancing skills earlier. It’s a good thing I didn’t ask you to waltz.”

She raised an eyebrow at him. “You know how to waltz?”

Molly grinned as Sherlock let go of one of her hands, raising up the other as she twirled. “Never underestimate the effects of growing up in a wealthy family.” he responded, re-taking her hand in his. “By my mother’s insistence, I also learned the rumba and the Viennese Waltz. Mycroft was forced into doing the polka.”

A fleeting image of Mycroft Holmes wearing lederhosen flashed in Molly’s mind; she burst out laughing, simultaneously scarred and infinitely amused. “Please tell me there is a recording of this somewhere?”

“I always keep incriminating footage of my brother on hand for blackmailing purposes.” Sherlock cleared his throat. “Do not mention that fact to him.”

Molly couldn’t stop laughing. “What about  _ you? _ ” she pressed, eager to learn more about Sherlock Holmes the dancer. “Any footage of the Viennese Waltz?”

Quick as a flash, Sherlock took one of his hands in hers and kept the other round her waist, moving both of them so that they were in a more formal dancing position. Amusement dancing in his eyes, he purred, “I can show you if you’d like.”

“I don’t know how!” she protested, laughing as he started moving into the first steps. Sherlock merely pulled her a little closer, held her tighter, and said something along the lines of  _ I’ll lead. _ It was almost impossible to hear him as the quiet music roared into something louder, a pop song that had all of the guests screaming. 

Today’s hits were playing over the speakers, and everyone was grinding or moonwalking or doing whatever dances were popular... and Molly Hooper and Sherlock Holmes were waltzing on the fringe of the crowd. Molly stepped on his feet almost every five seconds as her body fumbled over this new, strange rhythm. The energy of the crowd sent adrenaline pumping through her veins, and they were moving faster, faster, until her feet couldn’t keep up anymore and she nearly fell out of Sherlock’s grip.

Meena and Dan joined the dance floor, and a massive dance circle began to form around the bride and groom; it was like the secondary school dances all over again, but this time with more alcohol. Meena yanked Molly away from Sherlock and into her arms, and the two best friends danced badly but without a care in the world. Meena took Molly’s hand and spun her around and around, and Molly was so dizzy– she lost her friend’s grip and went flying across the floor, the world tilting around her so much that she couldn’t tell which way was up.

She felt herself tilting towards the ground- but before she could embrace the floor, Sherlock was reaching for her, dipping her down and making it look like he had planned this all along. Molly was in his arms, and her sky was those blue eyes, her sun his smile. They danced for hours, only taking breaks for the official cutting of the cake and Meena throwing her bouquet into the crowd. 

Meena had always been awful in sports, so it was no surprise that she threw it so awkwardly that people were jumping to try and catch it. For a moment, Molly thought the bouquet had simply fallen to the floor- but then she felt a rush of air, and Sherlock stumbled back as the bouquet lobbed him in the side of the head.

“William!” Meena screeched, aghast. But the whole crowd was doubled over laughing, even Sherlock, and Molly hoped that someone had caught that moment on video. 

As the night wore on, the upbeat pop songs gradually turned to quiet soft rock made for slow dancing. All of the couples paired off, with Meena and Dan in the center and Molly and Sherlock again ending up on the outskirts. For not being fond of physical contact, Sherlock’s willingness to dance surprised Molly. He had barely let go of her the whole night, his hands on her waist and hers round his neck. When she felt her eyes grow heavy, she leaned her head against his chest, the steady beating of his heart thumping against her ear. It was a perfect moment. She wished she could take the sounds, the lights, the feeling of  _ belonging _ and bottle it up.

And then a sexual moan exploded from Sherlock’s chest pocket. 

Molly jumped back, the moment broken; her expression was surely appalled. Sherlock, however, wasn’t even fazed. He just reached into his suit and pulled out his cell phone, the screen lit with a text message from a contact labeled as  _ The Woman. _

Irene Adler. Molly felt a little nauseous.

Sherlock sighed as he quickly read the text and deposited his phone back into his pocket. The apologetic look on his face made Molly’s stomach drop. Bad news?

“I’m sorry,” he said, frowning slightly. “The Woman has just informed me of a development in Moriarty’s network. I’m afraid I must be going.”

Yes. Bad news. She wanted to cling to his lapels and beg him to stay, but she had to let him go on his wild goose chase. If she tried to keep him from investigating Moriarty and his network, he would start to get suspicious.

“Are you going far?” she asked, looking up at him sadly. 

He shook his head. “No. I’ll be back in a few hours.” He looked as though he wanted to say something else, but before he could, another sexual moan came from his pocket. He scoffed. “The Woman is getting impatient.”

Molly looked down at the floor. It was irrational, she knew, but some part of her felt like he was choosing Irene over her. Over their friendship. She didn’t know much about their past except that he had a complicated relationship with her, and that Irene preferred women. But the way she looked at him made Molly think that there could be exceptions. 

“I have to be going.” Sherlock said, looking down at her apologetically. Something tugged at her at the thought of being alone again in the middle of the party… but it wouldn’t be nearly as bad as if she had come alone in the first place. Tonight had been better than she had ever expected, despite a few bumps in the road. And she owed all of it to the consulting detective before her… her friend.

She hadn’t had a friend in a very long time. Jim was… Jim. Meena was practically her sister. But to just have a friend? It felt… surprisingly nice.

“Sherlock,” she whispered, managing a small smile as she glanced up. “Thank you for everything.” 

His eyes twinkled when their gaze met. “I had a wonderful night, Molly Hooper.” He murmured, leaning towards her. His lips were soft as he pressed a gentle kiss to her cheek. 

His goodbye warmed her heart for the rest of the night. 


End file.
